Wolverine: Indestructible
by MarvelRPDude
Summary: He's the best there is at what he does, and what does ain't pretty at all. Or is he? After having his healing factor stripped away from him, Logan is found as a booze-drinking drifter miles away from The Jean Grey Institute For Higher Learning. More importantly, what happens when old friends come in for a slice of him?
1. Chapter 1

It's been a while. His hand and that cold, crispy wet sensation. The very quiet crackling of the ice bottling inside the glass. A smile creeped up his stubbly cheeks as his lips tasted the fine drink. His throat hummed and burned as it went through. The slow, relaxing country music ringed in the background. And everything, even for now, even for the shortest time, made sense. No bullshit. No lies. No violence. No killing. It was clean. Logan inhales the rubby, cloudy air inside the bar, and licks his lips clean of the beverage.

"Refill?" The girl behind the counter asked. Logan nods once, and pushes the glass forward to her. She was cute. Short hair. Nice eyes. He didn't speak. Didn't have to. They just met eyes. Peace. Pouring more Daniels in, Logan tips her more than say, the minimum amount, and she responds by offering more attention to him "Anything else?" She adds, her smile still covering her face, her tone hinting

"What's your shift?"

Wolverine

Indestructible

"Mmm... Logan...Nnngh..." The girl coos, rocking her hips in rythm of his thrusts. His hands grasped at her skinny thighs, his nails biting down into her skin. Doing this was more than just sex. To him, it was freedom. The way their bodies consumed each other. How he grasped their hair. Controlled them. Hurt them. And they **always **liked it. There were no thoughts. Just animalistic rage and lust. It was the only time Logan could feel at ease with everything. After it was over, she crashed along him, her head resting on his hairy, sweaty chest "...I needed that..." She adds in, her voice crackling and quiet

He doesn't say anything. Not much to say. Nothing to say, really. They were both satisfied. All he did was compliment here with a smile and a wink, then moved his gaze up on the ceiling. The darkness around them eased both of them into a dreamless, relaxing sleep. Hours later, Logan's eyes slid open slowly, the sun waking him up. His left arm was still asleep, taking quick notice the girl wasn't near him. Probably putting on her make-up. Women, Logan thought, his eyes closing down for a few moments. He was thirsty.

"Logan?... Can you do me a favor?" She asks, her voice echoing out of the bathroom

"What?"

"Can you drive me back in the city?... I don't... well, trust cab-drivers."

He shrugged, putting on his jeans and buckling them up "Sure."

It wasn't the best way of going about things, but he had to know. He checks her uniform, precisely searching for a name tag. Stoya. Huh. He doesn't remember that name. Whatever. Speaking of cab-drivers, Logan checks his wallet, just to make sure how much he spent that night. 10 bucks left. And an unused condom. Fuck. Sitting down, he was just ready to close it, before finding a picture of Rogue somewhere inside. Hrm. She was a good kid. Even better now, he'd say. But that would be creepy to share, Logan figured. And it was. He was well into his late 100s, and Rogue was like, what, 19? Shit... she didn't look 19. Anyway... no time to think about her. Or the X-Men. Logan was on this journey for a reason. To get away from that. From Rogue. From Summers. From Jean...

He wasn't ready for the X-Men. He was a loner. Being on the road was the best thing he could do. It's been more than a year since he left. Jean always called him a coward. Tough man talking tough talk until everything goes to shit. She was right. Logan snaps the wallet shut, and clenches his jaw.

"You okay?" Stoya asks, finally coming out. All made-up, looking just as fine as she did

"...Yeah." He says, lightning up a cigarette. The sun came over his face, but he didn't mind. She comes over and kisses his shoulder, smiling

"...You don't look okay." She adds

"Ain't much of a talker either." He cuts her, getting up and putting on his grey shirt.

She raised a brow, her lips purching up some "...Owkay..." She shrugs, and gets up as well

"Ready when you are, darlin'."

Maybe he should call. It's been a few hours now. Logan leaned on his Harley, smoking a cigarette just at the side of the road. The cars roared by him. He cracked his knuckles, and smirked. Maybe he should... or... fuck it. No. People there probably hate him. Going in, calling everyone an asshole, then leaving just like that. Probably not a good way of starting a reputation. Logan clears his throat, and spits out his phlegm. Damn thing.

Just thinking about them made him feel angry. And alone. The only interaction he had with someone who could be called a friend was Deadpool. But that was months ago. Yet again, maybe he wouldn't be that good of an X-Man now anyway. He didn't have his healing factor anymore. Thinking about it, what good is he without that anyway? He could always take a hit, and get up and keep hitting. But now... now, not so much. Now he's like everyone else. Sure, there's the adamantium skeleton, but that isn't important. He sighed as he recalled. The scars on his chest were still fresh. This was the only time wounds closed normally for him. Slowly.

He wouldn't be of much use. Logan puffs some smoke out, then raises a brow. One of the incoming cars is approaching faster than the others. The wheels screeched, and his eyes went wide. It was coming straight for him! Logan jumps out of the way, the car smashing into his Harley, completely obliterating it in the process

The car didn't stop. It kept on. Logan could barely hear some screams and could see a hand coming out of the windows and flipping him off. Fuckers! He runs after the cry, but slows after the car almost dissapears on the street. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and his arms shivered with anticipation and anger

"Motherfuckers!" He roars, punching the thin-air in front of him. The bike was completely fucked. Assholes. It was getting dark too. Ugh. He should've been nicer with that Stoya chick. Maybe now, he wouldn't have to hich-hike like a damn bum. After some failed attempts, Logan was picked up by some truckers in a van. Nice people.

At least he had where to spend the night now. Motels weren't the best place to crash at. But it was the only option. And it had a phone. Coming in at the reception, Logan nodded in the general direction of the guy behind the counter

"Hey." The receptionist greeted

"Want a room. Whatcha' got, bub?"

"We've got rooms available. I'll just need some ID."

"Right." He digs through his wallet some, and pauses on that picture of Rogue. Hrm. Anyway... he picks out his driving license and offers it "There. Can I use your phone?"

"Sure thing."

"Thanks." Logan murmurs, heading in the back and picking up the phone and inhaling awkwardly. He dials up, and leans against the wall

There's the ringing. For a couple of seconds, it rings. And then, it clicks

"Hello?"

Click.

"Shit." Logan huffs, realizing he just smashed the phone down. It was an instinctive response. Out of all the damn X-Men, it had to be -her-?... He recognized Jean's voice just as easily as he could once recognize someone's scent. He pushes off the wall, and lightly punches the wall near him

He goes back to the reception, gets his room, and gets in bed. He should try again tomorrow.


	2. Mutant

The smell inside the bar was foggy, and gruggy. Covered in smoke and particles of cough, spit and snot. The music faintly rocked in the background. Logan swiftly made his way to the counter, where he slipped on a chair. The couple of wars after he woke up he spent wandering. Debating. Thinking. He doesn't know what to do. With a flick of his lighter, the tip of his cigarette gets burned up, and he puffs out some smoke

"Whatcha' havin' pal?" The bartender asks

"Booze."

"Gon' be more specific?"

"...Beer."

The bartender shrugged, and just gave the man his drink. He's seen plenty of ruggy, angry dudes coming here. The only thing he hoped for this one particular guy wasn't was another typical knuckle-head looking for a fight. That's what the sawed-off shotgun behind the counter was for, anyway. Logan makes eye-contact with the 'tender, and then scowl at each other. Logan huffs, and chugs on his beer

Logan didn't say anything. He just enjoyed his drink, and his cigarette. Did so for what seemed like hours. It was night outside. And snowing. Heavily. His gaze was typically distant and not all there. Just barely he could hear the FoxNews report buzzing on the TV laid nearby in the bar

**Minutes ago, Captain America and Tony Stark have arrived in Chicago to aid The Avengers. It is not confirmed, however we believe an ex-government operative has threatened the city and claimed to have bombs in each of the city's schools. More as it develops. Back to you, Trevor**

"Ah, hell. 'Nother one of 'em mutant freaks, I bet." Some guy muttered off in the back of the tavern

"Shiiiit... this is what, the second time dis' month? When tha' heck is the government gonn' wise up and put these fucks in jail or som'thin?"

Logan glances over his shoulder, in their general direction. In his own mind, he could see it. Leaping at them. Punching them in the face. And he could -almost- feel a bottle being smashed in his head, leaving the shards buried in his flesh. He almost missed the feeling of his skin healing itself.

"...I'm tellin' ya, bub. If an' of them come to my house?... Poor bastards, s'all I'mma say."

"...I think I seen one of 'em way back. Freaky one too. Had purple skin o' somethin."

"...Jeez, not this again."

"Purple skin, pal! I'm tellin' you two, this chick..."

The men continue their conversation. Three of them. Seemed like your typical redneck types. Logan simply listens in, gesturing at the bartender to bring him another beer

"...What'd it do, anyway?"

"Freak tried to beat up my cousin. Kept going on about some weird shit."

"Ain't your cousin in jail?"

"He's now. But back then, he was clean. So, this chick comes in and starts beatin' on 'im. No reason."

"Not smart..."

"Yeah, no kiddin'. You know how my cousin 's like. Last time he let someone beat him up was in middle school, man."

"Huh... do I..."

"But would you believe it?... my cousin actually gave this broad a chance!... told her to fuck off. But no. She kept pushing, man. Kept goin' off 'bout him doin' terrible stuff. You know, crazy. Worse thing?..."

"What?"

"His wife left him that day."

They flinch "...Yikes, man."

"So, he had just about enough of this crazy bitch. He shoots her. Pop. Right in the head. Revolver. Boom. Splat. Problem solved." They pause, then laugh

"Aw, shit, man!... should do that to all of these fucks, really."

Logan frowns, and wrinkles his nose up some. He was already feeling it. Boiling with rage. But he kept it in.

"That why he's in jail?"

"Nah.. he... accidentaly shot a kid when he was huntin'."

"That's rough."

He shrugs "...Was an accident."

Logan clenches his jaw. His fist held on tight on his beer. And once again, he'd glance over his shoulder at them. Longer this time. One of them makes eye-contact with Logan, and they stare each other. Only a couple of seconds. But the tension could be cut with a knife.

"Lookin' for something, pal?"

"...Talkin' to me?" Logan asks, raising a brow and pointing to himself

"Look, another peepsqueak, city-boy comin' here?" One of them chuckles

"Hey, wait up. I've seen this guy before." One of them remarks

"Yeah."

Logan moves his sight from one to another. He stands up. Slowly. And sips his beer. He casually pulls a chair at their table, and takes a seat

"...Did I say you can sit down, pal?"

"No. You didn't. Bartender - Couple of drinks for my new friends here."

After some minutes, the men chuckle. Logan doesn't. Having some shots, one of them chuckles quietly "Heh, maybe you ain't so bad after all..."

Logan lets a smile creep up on his cheeks "Heard you tell stories. Got one of myself, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Shoot."

Logan pauses, and takes a chug of his beer "...Okay... so there's this guy, I know, right?... He's way up, over the hills. Cold there. Colder than here. Anyhow, this guy... he's real wise fella', you know? Sharp. A mutant. A freak. Wanna know what's he doing there?"

"What?"

"He got shot in the head there." Logan utters, downing one of the shots. It burned. The sensation of cleansing his throat left a stinging burning sensation down his esophagus "...argh... Anyway..." The reaction of the other men was one of approval at Logan's story so far, nodding and grinning "...This guy... One day, he hears of a family being stranded there. Poor people. Car broke down. Wanna' know how he got hold o' 'em?... their lil' girl was a mutant. Wanna know what he does?... he goes up there, way up in the mountains, and helps them. Can barely walk, and the proud bastard's too stupid to wait for his friends. So he asks for help. Goes to town. Gets some guys with him" He pauses, then men stare "...Guys like you."

"Some real lowlives. I'm talkin' scum of the earth. So, my friend ain't got a choice but to fight once these shits hear he's a mutie. He gets the family out of there. And then..." He downs another shot, and groans "... he got a bullet to the face as a thank you."

One of the men leans in, having caught trace of Logan's obvious hostile attitude "...Serves him right." He'd grunt out. Logan glares back. Coldly. The bartender watches, his hand ready to grab his shotgun

There's a pause. Pam. Knock. Puff. Snikt. Pow. Logan is thrown out of the bar through the doors, the three men mobbing him and kicking wildly at him. He tried to slash. He tried to punch. But it just isn't the same. He doesn't heal. A single punch to the face made his brain rattle around.

"Fuckin' freak!" They bark at him, smashing his face in. They're surprised at the durability he had, but grin as Logan spits out some blood and looks up at them, his bleeding forehead pouring blood in his eye "...That all ye'...*sigh*... got?"

"Walk away, little man. We dun' wanna kill yer' ass."

Logan lounges forward, claws ready. He felt another punch to his face "...Unrgh!" And then, he fell down again. Some seconds pass, and he loses counsciousness

Logan doesn't know how long he was out. He felt a slight tap on his forehead, and his eyes slowly slid open. His vision was blurry, and unfocused. There was a tall, large man standing in front of him. Logan raised a brow, his face a puply, bruised, bloody mess. And after a second, his eyes went wide

"...Victor..."

"Hey, Jimmy. How ye' been?"


	3. Runt

The two men sat there, at a table. There was no sound in the bar, except the smell of smoke and blood. All of the other guys who only some minutes ago beat up Logan stand in a cuddle puddle somewhere behind the tavern. The bartender got no other different than them, except Creed was too lazy to move him out. He just flopped his body behind the counter, and joined Logan to talk

"...Well?" Creed snarked, fangs showing as he laid his forearms on the table. Logan didn't respond. His badly bruised face was sporting his usual scowl, only this time deeper

"...You haven't changed one bit, Jimbo."

"What the hell do you want?"

"What do -I- want?... Jimmy, come on..." There's an intentional pause, as Creed lets a smug smirk come over his face "...You know what I came here for."

"You wanna' kill me."

Victor leans back some, lightning up a cigarette. The thick smoke rinsed his face and what was left of it slipped out of his nostrils "...Lemme' tell you som't'n, Jimbo."

"'n what's that?" Logan barked quietly, hands clenched into a fist

"This entire o'rdeal we have?... You got me all wrong. For all this time... how long have we been at it, an'way?... Couple of centuries, maybe more?" Victor shrugs, and rests his forearms on the table again as he continues "...You've always had this -idea- that you were better than me. You always behaved as if you have some strict moral code, and let's face it bub, that's a big fat lie, isn't it?" Chuckling darkly, Creed holds up a hand "...Ah, don't interrupt me now. Lemme' finish."

Logan watches him talk. The cloud of smoke comes over his face, making him wiff the ever so slightest bit of that poisonous gas, clenching his jaw as he begins to itch for a cigarette. Creed squints his gaze at him, and chuckles "...Light up." Victor utters with a wink, while Logan slowly but sure lights himself a cigarette "...I've heard about it. What happened to you. Stings, don' it?... No more healin' factor. All the problems.. you're losin' it, boy. You're losin' yourself." Creed keeps on talking, his voice getting warmer as it continues "You're my brother, Jimmy. I ain' gonna kill ya'. Not now. Not when you're..." He waves his hand in Logan's general direction "...like this."

"Yeah?" Logan grunts, letting the smoke puff out his mouth "...Like what?" He tried to play tough. Maybe not such a good idea after all. But knowing that what Creed was looking for right now was a proper response, Logan grithed his teeth as he attempted to not show the beast of a man in front of him what he actually felt. Creed casually leans his head back, and dissects his own piece of smoke through his lips, licking them shortly after

"...Ye' know, brother... I never get tired of that smell." Sabertooth pauses, exposing a large wide grin, fangs showing "...Fear."

What came next took no other than half of a second. Logan popped out his claws, Sabertooth merely smashed the table in front of them in two and lounged at Wolverine. After that, all Logan could do is try to stab at him, but he didn't want to. He knew if Sabertooth got really angry, there was no way he could get out of this alive. Creed snarled, holding Logan by the throat with one clawy hand, the other pulling Wolverine closer by the collar "...I told ye', I dun' wanna kill your ass, runt. But if yer' gonna be like that, I could just stab you' in the fuckin' eye and be done with your scrawny ass. But that wouldn't be fun now, eh?... I'mma give ye' one month Jimmy. One month to get your shit together, and then..." The grip on Logan's throat tightens even more, choking the air out of his lungs. All Wolverine could do is yank and gasp "...then I'll be comin' for ya, Jimmy. Don' dissapoint me."

And with that, Logan found himself hurled towards a wall. He smashed into it, and crumbled down onto a table, taking it down in the process. Some minutes pass until he starts to wake up, noticing Creed left


	4. Chicago

He's been walking for hours. With every passing, roaring car, Logan raised up his hand. None of them stopped this time. After having had changed his mind about calling the Institute, Wolverine found himself almost reaching Chicago on foot. Most importantly, what was he gonna do now? He knew Creed was coming but now he was on the clock. At least he had a chance, Logan figured, another car passing by. For the very few times in his life, he was actually tired. Exhausted, even. Needless to say, he was forced to spend the night out, covered in his own brown, leather jacket. He was used to the weather, just not this way. Not like this. Not with the rain covering him in cold drops of water making him freeze and shiver

The next morning, he hitched a ride with some teenage hippies on their way to some rock concert. He didn't give a shit. The moment he found himself in their van, all he could do was warm up and have a beer. Everything else phased out. He hasn't been to Chicago in a while. Couple of years, actually

"Got a name, hairy?" One of the kids asked. She was alright. Seemed pretty zoned out with everything else going on around her

"Logan."

"I'm Ashley." She offered a hand. Wolverine glanced at it with a passive stare, then shook her hand

"So, whatcha' doin' in Chicago, Mr. Logan?" Ashley continued, taking a seat in the back of the van. Just near Logan. The man was soaking wet and had his nose slightly red. Least she could do is warm him up

He offered no response, taking another sip of his beer. With a raised brow, Ashley moved an inch or two away, folding her arms

"Ain' much into talkin', kid. No offence."

"No, no, none taken."

"Jus' seeing if I can meet up with an old friend, 's all."

She purches her lips up some, nodding as one hand travels to the back of her neck "Me and my friends are goin' to a concert. Maybe ye' wanna tag along?"

"I'm okay." Logan uttered, not looking at her. He'd finish his beer, and cozy up some "Wake me up when we're there."

This guy was weird. Usually hitch-hikers are mouthy high pricks that are either obnoxious or creepy. This guy was spooky, sure, but he didn't seem that bad. Ashley nodded, figuring the man had enough problems as it was, just offering a smile in return "Sure"

His sleep was dreamless and yet aggitated. How else could it be? Logan tossed and turned, making himself quite an annoyance in the van. But the kids weren't dumb enough to throw him out. A couple of times, he snarled and almost seemed as if he was about to punch the thin-air surrounding him. It was freaky. Four hours passed, and the group found themselves entering Chicago. It was night. And of course, raining. Not as heavy as before. Just drizzling. The van drifted off gently into a parking lot just outside Downtown

"'ight, we're here." The driver groaned out, hopping off out of the van. Ashley doozes herself up, having taken a nap of her own. They let Logan alone some few minutes as they waste time outside having some smokes. After which, Ashley grazed the doors from the van open, and attempted to poke Logan

"Mr. Logan?" There was no response, just a snarling huff as he turned around some. She did it again "Mr. Log-Agh!" Her words cut off as Wolverine jumped out of his sleep, his gaze suddenly bolting into a raging red-eyed glare, reaching for her throat and tackling her out of the van. The other kids yelped up and freaked as Logan popped out his claws, black over his eyes. All he could see is rage and fear

"What the fuck?!"

"Holy fuckin' shit!"

She grunted and screamed, Wolverine pausing as he started to come together. His claws retracted, and he immediatly crawled off Ashley, who was crying and felt her heart pound almost out of her chest

"What the- I'm... shit! A- agh! Fuck!" Logan grunted, eyes wide. This hasn't happened to him in years. And right now, he had no idea what to say to the kids. He leaped up to his feet, and attempted to help Ashley up

"Get away from him!" She screamed at him

Logan pulled back. His sight shot from one kid to the other, and all he could do is reach for his bags and take off. As fast as he could. He had no idea where to go. What to do. But just what actually did he think he was doing? Trying to be normal? Or trying to run away from normal? Just thinking about it, for all of his 100 years, and more, he's spent his life hunting. Tracking. Killing. The only time he hasn't done that was when he was a kid, a sickly little boy named James Howlett. And right, it wasn't so different. Logan sneezed, and grunted as he got out of the van, and made his way into Chicago


End file.
